autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.

the house I

Standing inside my home, I heard you walk along the path
The garden strewn with life’s history, the yard, an aftermath
I called, ‘whose there?’ and shivered, so long since someone hath
tread the stones along the river – briny, burbling wrath

You spoke to me of freedom, of liberated longings to be
You spoke to me of acceptance, sweet equality, blessed key
You bid me leave my silent house, that you might better see
The one who spoke so purely, freely, to know that which is me

From behind these stoic walls, I bid you no, and thanks
Too many vandals endured and superficiality, their favorite pranks
So long as I am safe within, no pain to unguarded flanks
Still you stood, waiting, as a commander before the ranks

Rattling my shutters, flitting about as though to flee
As if I truly sought escape, and not your company
As if there were somewhere to run, to avoid being able to see
The emptiness of my house, how it reflects that which is me